Secret Santa
by Jael K
Summary: Len really isn't the "Secret Santa" type. Hell, he's not really the Christmas type. But when Sara challenges him...well. Maybe this could be fun, after all...
1. Chapter 1

I know I have other things to write, but I couldn't resist this. Original Team Legends (set in an extended season 1) and slow-burn CaptainCanary. Should be four chapters, done before Christmas!

Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

* * *

It's Raymond who starts it, predictably.

And Leonard who, just as predictably, turns him down flat. He doesn't laugh in the inventor's face, not quite, but his distaste is clear, as is Ray's disappointment.

Leonard semi-expects Kendra or Jax to try and change his mind, or even Stein, in the name of team unity. He doesn't expect the person who finally _does_ broach the subject.

"Playing Scrooge, huh?"

He lifts his eyes from the book in his hands—"A Tale of Two Cities," an old favorite found in the Waverider's library—and snorts. "Wrong Dickens," he tells Sara drily, turning a page. "But, no, I'm not really one for the whole 'Christmas cheer' sort of thing. Bad memories."

It's only a sign of the friendship that's grown up between the crook and the assassin that he even alludes to his background; god knows he wouldn't have mentioned it with any other member of the crew. (Even Mick, who knows anyway.) That friendship has only grown since the team dragged him out of the time stream following the Oculus explosion, since the defeat of Vandal Savage and the team-wide decision to stay with the Waverider, to protect history and try to save Rip's family.

And if they both still feel the possibility of "me and you" hanging over them, well, Len's not going to be the one to bring it up.

He's not quite sure how he'd had the nerve to do it in the first place.

Sara raises an eyebrow at him as she perches on the corner of his bed, completely at ease. They've been in and out of each other's quarters frequently over the past six months, and it's not like she hasn't been there before, after all, even if not quite in the way he'd like.

"A Waverider 'Secret Santa' is pretty harmless, I think," she tells him.

He blinks at her, then sits the book down, leans back against the wall and shakes his head. "Really? I didn't think he'd send _you_."

"No one sent me." Sara rolls her eyes and leans back next to him, her nearness raising the hairs on his arms, though not in an unpleasant way. "I just thought it might be fun."

"Fun?" Sara laughs at the distaste in his voice. "Trying to find little…tchotchkes…geared to someone like Raymond or the professor, to celebrate a holiday on a ship that's traveling through time and isn't even on the same timeline as…"

"Ray figured out how many days we've lived since Rip picked us up and that it'd be Christmas for us…"

"I know. He explained. At length." He snorts again at the memory of the other man's earnestness, almost smiling at Sara's chuckle at his words, turning his head to do one of his favorite things and watch her.

But Sara's looking at him through her lashes again, smiling a little, and it's the expression that very nearly stops his…OK, yeah, he does have a heart…in his chest. He loves that expression. He's loved it for a long time.

"If you don't do it, we don't have an even number," she says in a coaxing tone. "It won't work."

Leonard eyes her, wondering what she's thinking. "Mick won't do it anyway."

"But he is." She smiles at his expression. "Ray pointed out that booze is a common Secret Santa gift."

Yeah, that would do it. "Stein doesn't even celebrate Christmas."

"He says a gift exchange is a 'charming secular notion.' He's in."

"Rip…"

"Decided it was easier to play along than deal with Ray's puppy eyes and moping." Sara casually reaches out and threads her fingers through his, and the easy gesture makes him freeze, then draw a deep breath that he hopes Sara doesn't hear. (Even as he knows she does.) "Please?"

Please.

His head says no. His heart…

"OK."

* * *

Raymond is altogether too happy with that change of heart. Mick barks out a laugh, smirks at him, and then pointedly looks at Sara. Len ignores him, strolling over to lean against the counter in the galley, where they've agreed to meet. Sara walks over to lean next to him, shoulder brushing his again. Well, there's that.

"OK. I'm really glad you all uh, decided to take part!" Raymond claps his hands together and grins at them. Len meets Rip's eyes across the room—the captain is standing by the door—and the two men share a rare look of weary agreement. He feels Sara's shoulders shake in silent laughter next to him.

"I have all the names right here," Raymond continues, brandishing a bowl full of folded strips of paper. "So I guess we all just pick one. We have an even number after all…" He beams at Leonard, who rolls his eyes. "…so it works. If you pick your own name, put it back. Honor system!"

Sara elbows Leonard, who elbows her back. Kendra, standing by Mick, covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a laugh, but Len ignores her too, focusing on the bowl as Raymond hands it to Jax.

The kid shakes his head, but accepts it, taking a piece of paper and sitting the bowl down before unfolding it. He grins, but carefully doesn't look at any of them, nodding and passing the bowl to Stein, who takes a paper and checks it—his face briefly going blank—before passing the bowl on to Leonard.

The crook eyes the papers as if they're snakes, but finally takes one, hoping that he's drawn his own name. No honor among thieves, after all.

But no such luck. "Rip Hunter" is written neatly on the slip in Raymond's precise handwriting.

Peachy.

Still, he'd promised. Stifling a sigh, Len pockets the paper and passes the bowl to Sara, who stares at it intensely, hand hovering over it a moment before decisively selecting a paper.

There's a flash of a smile on her face before she carefully conceals it, the paper disappearing up a sleeve or to wherever assassins hide such things before she nods and hands the bowl to Kendra with a flourish.

He misses the next few selections, watching Sara, whose gaze has now turned inward. That means she's not watching him in return, and he can study her features to his heart's content, wondering whose name had caused that flash of happiness, what she's thinking about, what plans she has. He's only jarred out of those musings by Raymond, who takes the last paper, makes a pleased noise (his eyes flicking quickly to Stein and away, Len notices), and sets the bowl down.

"So, we have two weeks to Christmas," he starts to say.

"Dr. Palmer," Rip butts in, looking long-suffering as only the captain can, "I've told you, that's not really how it…"

Raymond ignores him. Well, Leonard can agree with that. "…you should give your Secret Santa two small gifts at some point leading up to Christmas Day," he continues. "And then a bigger one on the day itself. Well, that's how we did it at Palmer Industries, back in the day."

"Haircut," Mick rumbles, turning his paper around in his big hands and looking bemused, "how're we supposed to get gifts, in the time stream? Without just gettin' Gideon to make 'em, which seems to defeat the purpose."

Raymond blinks at him. Stein, of all people, nods. "I was wondering the same, Mr. Rory," the professor says, eyeing Raymond. "Are we supposed to barter? Steal?"

"I can do that," Mick offers, looking up. Sara elbows Len again. He elbows her back. Ignoring Kendra.

"No!" Raymond looks aghast. "Um. Well, we're bound to be out of the time stream soon, right? Fixing something?" He turns to give Rip a beseeching look, an expression the captain meets with resignation.

"I'm sure we will be, Dr. Palmer," he says drily. "But trust me when I tell you that people managed to find small gifts for their loved ones for years before the advent of the enormous online retailers so beloved of your native time. Or even of the so-calling 'shopping malls.'" His eyes grow distant a moment. "Yes, even in the poorest of times."

Hmm. Len files that away in what he's gleaned of the Time Master's background, but allows not a flicker of reaction to show on his own face. Instead he straightens out of his slouch with a theatrical roll of his eyes (he has an image to maintain, after all) and shakes his head.

"Well, this is fun and all," he drawls, taking a step toward the door (aware that he's ruining the effect somewhat by stopping to see if Sara is going to follow), "but I've done as much for…" A wave of his hand. "… _team_ _unity_ as I plan to do for the moment."

"But you have to…"

"I _know_ , Raymond." OK, now Sara's moved away from the counter too. He continues for the door, ignoring the faint huff of laughter that tells him Mick's noticed that, too. (When did Mick start noticing these things? He's going to blame the other man's friendship with Kendra.)

Len's sauntering down the hallway (not too fast, mind you) when Sara catches up to him. They fall into step with each other with an ease born partly of fighting at each other's backs for nearly a year now, partly born of…of…

"Going to tell me who you picked?" she asks him teasingly while he's still trying to figure out where his thoughts were going.

"Thought they called this _secret_ for a reason." He turns his head a little to smirk at her, pleased with the way her eyes are glinting at him. "I'm not just going to sing to the first pretty face that asks."

Sara chuckles, a low, amused sound. "Even if I ask…nicely?"

" _Nice_ has nothing to do with it, Birdie," he retorts, making the…oh, call it what it is…pet name a purr and stopping to put his back against the wall of the hallway, folding his arms and facing her. "Why so curious?"

Sara looks innocent. Or tries. Badly. "Wondered what you thought of a wager."

Len narrows his eyes at her. He's really quite sure his poker face is better than anyone else's on the team—with the possible exception of Sara herself—but he also knows that he tends to give away more that he plans on around her. "What sort?"

She studies him a moment, face growing a little more serious, until he's shifting a little under her intent gaze, then smiles again. "Guess who picked who. Including your own Secret Santa."

The name makes him snort. "I already know a few." He eyes her. "And so do you."

Sara doesn't deny it. "But not all."

"But not all."

She tilts her head at him, nodding. "Well, whichever one of us guesses them all—correctly—first wins. It'll make things a little more…interesting." A grin. "Since otherwise both of us might just have enough with the whole thing and spoil all that 'holiday' spirit."

"That's a risk," he acknowledges, watching her closely. "But…if I win, what do I _get_?"

He's been trying to be good…in a manner of speaking…lately, trying to curtail the flirtation it seems neither of them can help. Still, the innuendo sneaks into the tone, into the words, and Sara certainly doesn't seem to mind. Instead, her smile grows a little and she takes a step toward him, then another, putting herself truly into his personal space again and even then leaning forward a little.

"I haven't decided yet," she tells him in that low, husky tone again. "Any ideas?"

 _Oh…_

Len shifts a bit and thinks determinedly of ice.

… _a few._

"Loser has to share all their gifts?" he comes up with after a moment. "Now, I don't know how good a prize that will be, given this lot, but…"

"That works." In a blink, Sara's stepped back, leaving him missing her warmth. "It's a deal, Crook. How will we know?"

"Hmm. Before the actual 'Christmas' shindig Raymond's planning, we both write the answers down and exchange them?" It definitely feels like she's got more up her sleeve than her knives, but what?

"Perfect." Sara nods decisively, turning down the hallway toward her room. "And may the best Legend win." With a wink, she disappears around the corner…

Leaving Leonard wondering what the hell he's just missed.

And just how much he's going to regret this.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard's halfway tempted—OK, maybe more than halfway—to just give Hunter one of his own bottles of booze back as the first "gift."

Still, that seems to fall under the whole "letter of the law, but not the spirit" thing, and if he's going to play along with this ridiculous tradition, he's going to do it right. If only so that Sara doesn't immediately figure out whom he'd picked. (Which she certainly would if he used the booze. She's been helping him drink Rip's collection, after all.)

He's still trying to figure out what sort of game she's playing—in addition to the one she'd challenged him to, anyway. Certainly, they've continued to flirt with each other wildly in the months since the Oculus, even though neither of them have broached the subject of "me and you" again, or that kiss—although Len will admit he relives it in his dreams on a regular basis.

Quips about "stealing a kiss" aside, he figures it's up to her to make the next step. He might be a bad guy (well, maybe) but he's not going to press interest that isn't returned in _that_ way. He's not _evil_.

So, he'll focus on the game he knows about.

Raymond has picked Stein. That was clear. He's pretty sure Stein has picked Mick or him, from the look of blank bafflement on the professor's face. Probably Mick, since Stein knows Leonard well enough from their chess games at this point to have some ideas. The idea amuses him.

Mick had looked extremely thoughtful, himself. Interesting. Probably not Len or Sara, then. He knows them too well. And he'd just roll his eyes over picking Raymond. Mick likes and respects Jax and Kendra, though. One of them.

Sara…who had caused that flash of happiness? He'd like to believe it was him, but…would it? Probably not. He doesn't think she'd be that pleased about picking Raymond, or even the kid.

But enough. For now.

They're still in the time stream as Hunter and Gideon watch for problems and work with Raymond and Stein (and occasionally Mick, who doesn't like remembering his time as Kronos but has been persuaded to lend the skills) to figure out a way to tweak time enough to rescue Hunter's family.

They try to maintain a regular 24-hour day even in the time stream, simply for sanity's sake, though, and that means mornings and evenings. Len ambles to the galley in the "morning," yawning, only to pause at the sight of Stein leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, eyeing the small gift bag (emblazoned with a menorah) in front of him.

Raymond works fast. Leonard stops himself from saying that out loud.

"Well, that was quick," he drawls instead, joining the professor at the counter. "And we haven't even stopped anywhere yet. How'd your 'Santa' manage that?"

Stein shakes his head, sipping his tea, which smells good enough that Leonard decides to make a cup himself. He's sitting the kettle on a burner (the galley can dispense brewed tea, but it's just not the same) when the older man speaks.

"I forgot that you and Ms. Lance left before that discussion," he comments, turning to study Len. "It was decided that, given our…limitations…in obtaining gifts without Gideon's assistance, that the replicator was a valid option. Provided, of course, that there was actual thought put into the gift."

"Makes sense." Keeping an eye on the kettle, Len moves to open the drawer where he can usually find the tea bags, unless someone had been rearranging again. (Raymond was prone to that, infuriatingly.)

Stein stops him. "If you're planning on Earl Grey, Mr. Snart, you might as well try this." He waves a hand at the gift bag, then reaches in to pull out a canister. "Not of Gideon's make, actually, so whomever picked my name must had it already. Someone's prepared."

Len snorts. Stein gives him a smile, eyes knowing. Neither of them mentions the Boy Scout on the ship, though.

"But what Dr. P…my 'Santa' failed to take into account," the professor continues, "is that I'd formed a taste for my particular brand years ago, as a starving undergrad. So while this," he nods at the canister, "is indeed a fine brand indeed, I'll stick to my stash of the cheaper variety."

He pushes the container toward Leonard, who shrugs after a moment and starts peeling the packaging off. Stein watches him, sipping his tea again, as Len extracts a tea bag and deposits it in his preferred mug before covering it with boiling water and waiting for it to steep.

The silence is almost companionable. OK, maybe there's no "almost." There have been many unexpected things in his life since he got on board this bucket of bolts, but this may be one of the most surprising.

"The captain seems to think we may have to visit 1920s Chicago to investigate an incident," Stein says after a moment, shaking his head with a smile as Leonard adds sugar to his tea. "They're still pinning it down. But if we do, there should be options there, especially for a man of your…talents."

That earns him another snort, but a smile as well. Len sips the tea, raising his eyebrows at the quality—Raymond may be a pain, but the man doesn't stint on gifts. "Could be fun."

"Hmm." Stein looks like he wants to ask a question, and Leonard waits. But instead, the professor merely sighs, turning toward the sink and rinsing out his own mug before asking a different question than the one Len had expected. "Game later? After dinner? At least, if we're not out mingling with mobsters."

"I could do that." Len pauses, then shakes his head and leans toward Stein before the older man can leave the galley.

"Mick does read," he says quietly, nodding at Stein's noise of surprise. "He doesn't particularly like people to know that, prefers to hide behind the 'big dumb lug' image, but he's got some favorites. And while Gideon can get us anything digitally, he likes real books better." He shrugs. "And he didn't bring any. Just a thought."

Stein eyes him, his face unreadable for a moment, then smiles, eyes crinkling. "Ah. That's indeed good to know, Mr. Snart."

If it means Mick will actually get a decent gift, blowing his chilly image is worth it. Although…that's probably been thawed a long time now. "Just sayin'. You know. In case."

"Of course." The professor looks very thoughtful as he moves out the door. Leonard nods to himself in satisfaction, then washes out his own mug and saunters off for the training room, hoping to catch Sara.

But…no. Kendra, finishing a round on the salmon ladder, tells him she'd already been there and gone, smiling at him in a way that suggests the ship-wide rumor mill is chattering on, again, about the amount of time that the crook and assassin spend together. Len ignores it, but also declines to stay. Maybe he can talk Sara into sparring later.

And maybe the rumor mill has a point, but he doesn't need to acknowledge it.

Mick isn't in his room. Leonard shrugs and heads back to his own room, where he pulls up the news from their "current" time in Central. He's not getting caught by surprise by events again, not since the time they returned to the city for a visit and he'd been ambushed by goddamn Sam Scudder. And Sara—nor any of the others, to be honest—is never getting blindsided by the loss of a friend or family member again, not if he has anything to say about it.

It doesn't take long; it's not even noon by ship's time when he's done. He stretches, then thinks about tracking down Sara for cards or that sparring match.

Then sighs and draws his feet up underneath him, leaning back against the wall.

"So," he drawls, glancing upward. "Gideon."

"Yes, Mr. Snart?" the AI responds promptly.

"I need some information."

Gideon doesn't sigh, but by the quality of her pause, she might as well have. "I cannot tell you who picked whom," she responds after a moment, tone vaguely long suffering. "Nor am I allowed to 'tattle' on others. I will assist in replicating items as I am able, but…"

"No. I just want some advice. On the person _I_ picked."

"Mr. Snart, that may not go against the letter of the law, but by what Dr. Palmer said, it does rather go against the spirit…"

"It's your captain."

A long pause. Len smirks to himself, still gazing upward.

"Captain Hunter?" she says finally.

"Yep." He picks up his old exercise ball, the one he'd used to strengthen his new hand all those months ago, and starts throwing it from hand to hand, waiting. "Thought you might be…invested…in making sure he got a decent holiday."

Another pause, then: "What is it you wish to know?" Gideon's tone is cautious, but Leonard's smirk just grows wider.

"Well," he says, drawing himself more upright. "I know you won't outright spill on his background, but, I'm wondering if you can confirm something for me…"

* * *

Some days he joins the others in the galley for dinner, some days he doesn't. It depends how annoying the rest of the team is being, what else he's doing, and who's cooking, really.

Jax is on the rotation tonight, so there's a good chance the meal will be pretty good. And Len's been working on a few things with Gideon all afternoon, so he actually wouldn't mind a bit of human conversation—not that he'd ever admit that.

Len makes a quick stop in Hunter's study (after first checking some logistics with Gideon), then loops around to stroll into the galley from the opposite side, just in case. Jax glances up as he enters, waving a spatula at him in greeting, and Stein nods to him from where he's sitting with a book. But Len's eyes go right to Sara, who's standing on the other side of the room talking with Kendra. She grins at him and he feels a return smile stretching the corners of his mouth.

Kendra glances back and forth between them, lips twitching, then shakes her head and chuckles as she walks over to talk to Jax, greeting Mick as he walks in. Leonard spares his old partner a nod and gets one in return, but he's already on his way over to Sara, whose eyes are glinting.

"And what've you been up to today?" she greets him, giving him a once-over. "Didn't see you at all. Busy with something?"

"Maybe," he drawls, parking his hip against the table and returning the favor. "Were you?"

"Maybe," she drawls in return. "You weren't training this morning. Missed the salmon ladder."

"Pity." And it is. He hates the damned thing himself, but watching Sara on it is one of the highlights of life on the Waverider. "Spar later? So you can beat me into shape?"

Sara snorts. "A likely story. But sure." She gives him a considering look. "Did your Santa strike yet?"

"Nope. Yours?"

"Nope. It's the first day. There's time."

Len spares a moment to wonder about what he'd be doing if he'd selected Sara's name. It's…well, it's probably just as well, for the purpose of the status quo anyway. "True enough."

"Snart."

They both turn to look at Mick, who's crossed the room to stand nearby in a rather unMick-like way (rather than simply interrupting, which is what they're both used to). Leonard immediately notices what his friend is holding and conceals a smile.

"This wasn't you…was it?" Mick's tone is suspicious, but not in a bad way…and in a way that suggests he already knows the answer. Leonard takes a closer look at the book in Mick's hands, then snorts and shakes his head. Of course Mick would think…

"No," he says with amusement, "but someone on this ship has good taste."

Sara, shaking her head, ducks to read the title, then laughs. "Really?"

"I'm a fan," Len allows, leaning back against the wall. "Detail-oriented, not fond of most of humanity…"

Sara nods sagely. "…pain in the ass to anyone he considers less intelligent than himself…"

"Hey." He pauses. "OK, maybe you have a point."

Mick rolls his eyes at them, but continued to study the book, a handsome, leather-bound volume with "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" on the cover. Len reaches out and plucks a slip of paper from the inside cover, reading it as Sara leans in too.

"Hoping you enjoy this," is all it says, in a generic font that speaks of Waverider printing. He very carefully doesn't look in Stein's direction, but glances up at Mick.

"I've been trying to get you to read that for years," he points out drily. "Since…"

"Yeah, yeah. Since juvie." Mick gives him a long-suffering look. "Yeah, well…maybe I will now. This boat gets boring."

"Because immortal psychopaths, time travel and anachronisms on a near-daily basis aren't enough," Sara comments, just as drily. "Can I borrow it when you're done? Never read it."

"Ask Snart. He doesn't let anyone borrow his books, but he'll probably let _you_." Mick's smile is sly, and he ignores his friend's glare (which Len quickly conceals as Sara glances at him) and laughs as he turns and strolls over to see what Jax is cooking. Leonard watches him go—noticing how Jax eagerly points out the cast iron pan he's using, a pan Leonard's semi-sure he hasn't seen in the galley before. The kid's 'Santa' apparently picked up that he wanted one. Hmm.

But Sara is still watching him, and he looks back to her with a smirk, trying (badly, he's sure) to look like he wasn't putting pieces together.

"I hear we're going to the '20s tomorrow," she says lightly when he meets her eyes. "Ready for that?"

"Well. I hope the Brit is ready for me to take over," he retorts, leaning toward her. "Wouldn't be the first time I've taken out mafiosi."

"Hmmm." Sara eyes him back. "Oh, yeah? Me too."

Now, that's a story he wants to hear. He's about to tell her so when their captain makes an entrance, and they both actually do a double take.

Because Rip Hunter is smiling.

"I don't suppose any of you lot will tell me who's responsible for this?" the Brit says, looking down at his hands. "Because I'm not sure whether to be alarmed or pleased, but I think I'll settle on the latter."

"What?" Jax turns away from the stove, then back quickly, muttering to himself as he moves something around with the spatula. Mick, who's now showing Kendra his book, turns to look, and even Stein cranes his neck to see. Len, recalling that he needs to look surprised, tilts his head to watch, even though he keeps his eyes more on Sara.

She looks interested, eyes roving around the room—and then flicking back to land on him. The smile grows.

Busted? Maybe. He smirks back in return.

"I don't know how…well. Let's just say I spent a bit of my youth wanting to get my grimy urchin hands on one of these things," the captain says, looking down at the object in his hands. "And then I made sure we had them every Christmas I managed to spend with Miranda and Jonas. They're…fond memories."

"And we're going to make sure you get more of them," Stein tells him kindly, rising from his seat to see what the other man is holding. "Ah! Christmas crackers! Not really a thing in the States, but…"

"Heathens." But Hunter's voice is amused. "Well, we need to wait until Christmas, you know, but what you do…"

"Someone pays attention." Sara's voice is low and amused in Len's ear as they watch the others, even Mick, listen to Rip. "Nicely done."

"Apparently," he retorts. "Seems like I'm not the only one after all."

"Mmhmm…"

"Hey, look, guys…oh, what'd I miss?"

Raymond has entered, brandishing a bottle of…Leonard tilts his head to see the label, smirking as he recognizes it as one from Hunter's seemingly indefatigable stash, one that he hadn't bothered taking yet.

But then Jax announces that dinner is ready, all-you-lunatics-eat-it-before-it-gets-cold, and then Stein's asking him if he's still up for that game, and Sara's smirking at him as they get the board out, leaning over to whisper in his ear and raising the hairs on the back of his arms.

"See you in the training room in an hour?"

Even if the game's not over, he'll be ready to indulge in some physical activity at that point. And get some alone time with Sara. And with both, he'll take what he can get.

"Sure."

"Good."

Even ol' Silvertop is giving him one of _those_ looks as Sara strolls away. Leonard ignores it. The rumor mill is definitely working right now.

He admits, again, that it may have reason—because the older man wins handily, taking advantage of his distraction to checkmate his king in far less than the usual time. Stein looks like he wants to say something, and Len abruptly decides he doesn't want to have the conversation right then, if ever. He excuses himself and beats a hasty retreat.

He stops back in his room to change into clothes he's willing to spar in-and pauses at the sight of the gift bag on his desk.

Blue paper with silver snowflakes. Funny. He studies it a moment, uneasy a moment at the notion that someone's been in here, then shrugs and pulls it over, peering within.

Cocoa powder. The really good kind, the kind he picks up at a gourmet shop in Central but forgot to stock up on during their last stop. A small bottle of vanilla, from the same place. And a pair of coffee mugs. Bemused, he picks up one and reads the side…then laughs despite himself.

Hunter, he decides, had a point. It's a little alarming to know that someone on the ship pays enough attention-or knows him well enough-to pick out something so apt.

But it's oddly…warming…as well.

* * *

Author's note: Once I got the picture of Len and Mick as Holmes and Watson, I just couldn't shake it. :D (Sara as Irene Adler?)

Also, these are the coffee mugs (profanity warning):

listing/212416647/i-am-a-ray-of-fucking-sunshine-ceramic

listing/494887630/do-i-look-like-a-team-player-low-morale?ref=shop_home_active_13


	3. Chapter 3

The '20s in Chicago are about as fun as Len thought they'd be. He's quite fond of the dapper blue suit Gideon helps him create in the fabrication room, actually, and even Mick—who isn't fond of "playin' dress-up," as he calls it—seems to like his own smoke-gray one.

Of course, Len's so distracted by the sight of Sara spinning around in her very, _very_ short, sparkling flapper's dress that Hunter gives them one of his patented pity-the-poor-captain looks and pointedly tells Kendra and Mick to make sure _someone's_ paying attention to the mission. The very fact that he includes Mick in that order shows just how much things have changed over the past year, both with Mick and with Hunter's view of him. Of all of them, really.

Kendra, in her own sparkly flapper dress that's not quite so short, laughs, and Mick, popping his fedora onto his head, snorts, but they do listen. And Leonard and Sara aren't quite so distracted that they'd fudge a serious mission because of it. The four of them, with the others ready as backup at the ship (much to Raymond's disappointment), handily filch the futuristic weapons a very small-time mobster had obtained from time pirates, with only a few small stops and side trips to obtain some authentic Prohibition-era moonshine—and perhaps a few other small items.

And one slight delay when Sara'd decided to distract guards in a speakeasy by dancing. Len's pretty sure that's a vision that's going to haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future. (Especially since she'd followed it up by delivering quite the ass kicking onto the same guards.)

She's not, however, quite so fond of the reward for said ass kicking.

"This is even worse than that swill they were serving back in Salvation," Sara comments, wrinkling her nose after just one sip. She's sitting in the galley with Len, Mick and Kendra after their return, trying out their stolen 'shine as they rehash the mission. Kendra, who'd declined to even take one drink, shakes her head, pushing over the box of chocolates she'd found left in her room by her Secret Santa. She's guarded them zealously enough that Len's actually somewhat touched by her willingness to share them now.

And he's a sucker for the peppermint ones.

"It's not so bad." Mick takes another drink, but even he's not putting the booze away as quickly as he has in the past. "Just…um…distinctive. Is that what they call it?"

"Yes. It is," Len informs him, drily, setting down his glass. "Both, actually. But I don't think 'distinctive' is necessarily a good thing."

"More for me."

"And welcome to it," Sara tells him, pushing the glass away and taking a chocolate. "I think we've established I can drink you under the table, big guy. I've got nothing to prove. Especially not with that stuff. I have better taste."

Mick's eyes brighten at that line, though, and he quickly glances at Leonard, who glares at him as he tries to think of a good way to head off what's coming. It's Kendra, to his surprise, who comes to his rescue.

"Taste is relative," the former hawk goddess says smoothly. "Did you know the ancient Egyptians were the first ones to perfect the brewing of beer? It didn't taste much like today's, though. I wonder what you'd make of it."

Mick is successfully distracted, although something in the smile he turns on the dark-haired woman says that he's allowing himself to be. "Yeah? And you remember that?"

"Oddly enough…"

Leonard snorts, then glances at Sara, who shakes her head in amusement. Then, against his better judgment, he leans a little closer.

"So," he drawls, "figure out who gave you that excellent gift?"

Sara'd found a whetstone waiting for her on her desk when they'd returned from Chicago, one of a unique make even she'd never seen before. But it worked like a dream, and she was so pleased with it that Leonard rather wished he'd had the idea first.

Her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward just a little too. "Like I'd tell you if I did." A look from under lowered lashes. "Or are you saying that it was you?"

Yes, he wishes he'd had the idea first. "I'm not giving anything away, birdie."

"You give away plenty, Len."

Now, what does she mean by that? "Oh?" he asks, just a little cautiously. "Do tell…"

But Mick interrupts them with a snort, and they both glance up to see both him and Kendra watching them with particularly amused, if world-weary, expressions. But Mick doesn't comment this time, just shakes his head and pushes his chair back, getting to his feet.

"Told the nerd squad I'd meet 'em to hash over some more rescue ideas," he mutters. "Think I'll take a few glasses of the 'shine, since no one here likes it. Haircut gets real creative with the science-y stuff when you get some liquor into him, and maybe it'll help."

Kendra rises too, as he does. "How are you doing?" she asks curiously. "With the plans. Everyone was so optimistic at first, but lately…"

"But lately, not so much." Mick shakes his head, pouring a few glasses before turning for the door and then glancing back.

"Time Bastards, they were smarter than they looked. Even with their damned gadget…" He nods to Snart, who nods back … damn right he'll take credit for destroying the Oculus. "…they made it real hard to undo their bullshit. Fuckers."

Well, Leonard can't argue with that. He opens his mouth to ask another question, but Mick anticipates it.

"Ain't saying any more," the big man says with a grunt as he turns back for the door. "I hate remembering it, what they did…well. Only reason I'm doing it is 'cause of Rip's kid. S'got a dad who loves him. He should…"

Len gets Mick's issues with that as well as anyone ever will. "Yeah," he cuts in. "Good luck."

Mick leaves without another backward glance. Kendra does glance at him, but she leaves, too.

Leonard reaches over and reclaims his glass of moonshine, taking another sip even as he winces at the taste. He can feel Sara's eyes on him, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she reaches over and takes his glass, stealing a sip herself.

Len glances over after a moment, meets her eyes.

Understanding.

Nothing more. But also, nothing less.

He watches her another minute. Then, "So. Do you want to finish the movie?"

Sara's startled into a laugh. They'd started watching "The Untouchables" right before the ship's foray to Chicago, after she'd told Len while sparring that she'd never seen it. ("That was the year I was born, old man!") So, he, of course, had insisted she had to. Before visiting actual Prohibition-era Chicago, of course.

Merely a bonus if it meant a few more hours in her company.

They'd only made it halfway through before they'd both started nodding off, though, and Len didn't have quite the nerve to let her fall asleep with her head on his shoulder (or to let himself drift off with his chin against her hair). So, using the excuse that she'd have a hell of a crick in her neck if she stayed like that (and resisting the urge to suggest they both get more comfortable), he'd woken her gently and watched as she left with an apology and a sleepy mumble.

And spent the next hour staring at the ceiling and regretting the choice.

"Well, now that we've seen the real thing, it might not be as much fun…but yes," Sara said, decisively, bringing him back to the here and now as she pushed back her chair and got to her feet. "I have some things to do right now. Later. Tomorrow? I'm all screwed up with that stop…what's ship's time, Gideon?"

"8:19 p.m., Ms. Lance," the AU said promptly. "It is not surprising your internal clock is, as you say, 'all screwed up.' You left Chicago at 11 p.m. local time, after spending approximately six hours there, and that was two-and-a-half hours ago in the time stream. Your body cannot decide if it's 1:30 a.m. or mid-evening." Gideon's tone takes on a slightly lecturing note. "I keep telling Captain Hunter that none of you have had the training in such readjustments that he has, but…"

"…but we _are_ pretty used to weird hours. Some of us, anyway. The assassins and thieves." Sara winks at Leonard. "It evens out."

"But…"

"It's OK, Gideon. See you later, Len."

Leonard watches her go, then picks up the bottle of 'shine, swirling the liquid around and watching it. The raw burn of it hadn't been to his taste, but he can see the lure of the quick oblivion it promises, especially in the mean streets of the city they'd just left.

Not for him, though. He'd blown up the Time Masters in part because he hated the idea of someone else pulling his strings. He'll be damned if he lets the booze do it.

"Mr. Snart?"

Gideon's voice is tentative. Len smiles to himself, sitting the bottle down, pretty sure of what the AI has to say.

"Gideon, after all this time," he drawls, tipping his chair backward, "don't you think you can call me 'Leonard?' "

A pause.

"Mr. Snart," the AI repeats with emphasis, "such familiarity would be against my programming."

"And you always have to go with your programming."

"It is in my nature."

Not _quite_ a confirmation. "Well, it's in my nature to hate the idea of programming. Which I'm pretty sure you know." Leonard brings the front two legs of the chair back to the floor. "What's up?"

Another pause.

"Captain Hunter, he was quite pleased by the first gift," Gideon says finally. "Have you thoughts on a second?"

Through her sensors, he's pretty sure Gideon can see him, but he conceals his smile anyway. "Not as of yet," he points out. "Any ideas yourself?"

The AI is quiet for a few moments. "Not…particularly," she says then, tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "It is true that Captain Hunter only truly wants one thing right now. Two things. And anything else I can think of is likely to rely too much, perhaps, on nostalgia. Not that that is a bad thing, but…"

"But a random crook is probably not the best to invoke it."

But Gideon has a comeback to that immediately. "On the contrary, Mr. Snart. You and Captain Hunter are more alike than either one of you is ever likely to care to admit." A little asperity, there? Even amusement? "Still, it would take something specific, and I have no particular thoughts on that. Not as of yet."

"Well," he retorts, just a bit unsettled by her words. "Keep thinking."

"As long as you do the same, Mr. Snart."

* * *

He and Hunter are _not_ alike.

He's a far better planner, for one, Leonard thinks grumpily as he stalks the halls of the Waverider a bit later, unwilling to admit that his sleeping patterns are off, after all, thanks to time travel. He's a better leader. Better looking.

Petty? Oh, a tad. But no one ever said Leonard Snart couldn't be petty. He's pretty good at that, too.

Slowing to a stop as he nears Hunter's study, he sighs, acknowledging that, at least. And also that Gideon had a point. About a couple of things.

As far as he knows, Mick's still with the others. Well, he's feeling just petty enough to barge in. Maybe another look at the study will give him some ideas…

And that's when the door slides open, the captain himself rushing out and stumbling to a stop before hitting the team thief.

For a moment, the two men just stare at each other. Len, recovering quickly and pasting on his usual smirk, notes the slightly reddened eyes, the stress and the grief in the Brit's features before the man recovers enough to slap his own typically harried expression on.

"Mr. Snart," Hunter clips out before sidestepping him. "Excuse me." Then he raises his voice and his eyes. "Gideon, set a course for the Refuge. I…have a few inquiries to make there. And I promised Mother that I'd look in; I've been sadly remiss in that."

"Now?" Leonard inquires pointedly, turning to look at him. "Kinda late. Pretty sure a good portion of your team is asleep or exhausted."

Hunter's eyes narrow, but Gideon cuts in smoothly at that point, as Mick and Raymond follow Hunter out of the study. "Captain, I hate to say this, but Mr. Snart is correct." She continues as Len mutters, "Gee, thanks, Gideon." "I can set the course, but I would recommend actually making the jump in the morning, ship's time. That will also give you time to…consider what you hope to achieve."

Hunter runs a hand over his face, then shakes his head. "Yes…yes, of course, Gideon." He fixes Len and the others with a look. "So. Rest is in order, people. We jump in the morning."

With that, he strides off toward the captain's quarter. Leonard shakes his head as Mick joins him.

"Not going well, I take it?"

"Nah…"

"He says we…well, he…created a 'time knot.' " Raymond's voice is concerned, and Len decides to leave off antagonizing the man for the time being…to better obtain information, of course. "When he recruited us, when you…" He motions vaguely at Len, who raises his eyebrows. "…um, blew up the Time Masters, when we killed Savage. We made it so there's no way to save his wife and son, because if they don't die, he doesn't recruit us and none of that happens and…"

"Breathe, Raymond." Len turns to look at Mick. "And this is news?

The bigger man shrugs. "Well, there's usually wriggle room. The Time Masters, they operate…operated…in that wriggle room, those little spaces between events. You know, like…" He ponders a moment. "…well, uh…oh, hell. The thing with the time pirates. The Time Masters, they grabbed me in the time after you left, before you could even possibly come back." He waves a hand as Leonard starts to respond. "Don't say it again, I was an ass, you didn't have a choice, yadda yadda. Water under the bridge. Anyway, we figured we'd find something here. But…really seems to be tied up tight. We've been going over it and going over it." He shrugs as Raymond nods. "Can't find nothing."

"So, why the Refuge?"

"Honestly, Snart, I ain't got the foggiest idea."

* * *

The place looks the same as it had the last time they were there, before the Vanishing Point and the Oculus and Savage. Len feels a prickle run up his spine as he follows Hunter and the others down the path toward the stately home, slowing so that he can study the place.

Nothing unusual. He knows they're at…what was Hunter's phrase? A secret location in time and space…but there's nothing to clue anyone into that fact. Not unless he can count that unnerving prickle…not _Alexa_ , no, not quite…that just won't go away.

He's so engrossed in thought that it takes him a moment to notice that Sara's dropped back to walk next to him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she murmurs, watching him.

"Nah. Gotta be at least a quarter," he shoots back, then sighs, hanging back a little more while she slows with him. "Wishing that I knew more about this place," he says in a low tone. "Do you... feel that?"

Sara lifts an eyebrow at him, but apparently decides against innuendo. "No? Feel what? It seems the same."

"There's like…this electricity in the air." Ill at ease, he pauses instead of following the others up the steps. "Do you think we're still…"

"Our younger selves? No. Rip said he was bringing us to a point after that. You were too busy trading barbs with Stein to hear him." She taps him on the shoulder and he finds himself leaning into the contact, then stops. Sara doesn't comment, but she does turn around and walk backward a few moments, studying him thoughtfully.

He studies her in return, noticing something. "That new?"

"The jersey?" The corner of her mouth rises and she nods, turning to let her jacket slip off her shoulders just enough to show the "Lance" on the back. "Uh huh. Starling City Rockets. My 'Santa' worked fast. And paid attention. I used to go to games with my dad. It's even the old name."

"Nice." He means it.

"Very." Sara shrugs the jacket back on and slows even more, although the others are in the house at this point. "Stein's worked fast too. Got him this gorgeous crystal menorah that's made to be extra-stable and spill-proof. A plus for the Waverider."

"Heh. No one tell Mick. He's still annoyed Gideon won't let him have candles."

Sara starts to retort, but at that moment, they both feel eyes on them. They stop in their tracks, Sara's hand going reflexively to her sleeve and Len's to a cold gun that isn't there, and look up.

A tall woman stands on the Refuge's porch, watching them. No, watching _him_. She looks no older than before, and no younger, very much the same. Her expression is very, very serious and her eyes are…cold? No, judging. Maybe both?

Len feels the prickle down his spine intensify, and shuffles uneasily where he stands. For the first time, he remembers…Mary Xavier was all about protecting her children.

Who were to be become Time Masters.

And he…

But after a moment, a moment that probably felt longer to him than it actually was, she shakes her head. Her eyes flick to Sara, then back to him, an actual smile touches her lips…and she turns and goes back inside the house. Len lets out a breath and feels the tension subside, a little.

But not completely.

"That was a little creepy," Sara says under her breath. She relaxes her stance, and Leonard's warmed, a little, by the realization that she'd been ready to back him up.

"Yeah." He hesitates. "I can't say I really blame her, if you think…"

But Sara's been following his line of thought, apparently. She glares at him before he can get the words out. "No. We didn't have much of a choice. Not if we wanted to break their control, get back our free will and save the world. And you…you nearly died…"

There's something in her voice, there, and he glances over, startled, seeing her mouth set in a firm line and her eyes directed at where Xavier had vanished. That's the most she's said about his near-miss with death since they'd dragged him out of the time stream, and even then, she'd just threatened to kill him if he ever did anything that stupid again.

"Sara…"

"A- _hem_."

They both look up to see Hunter, standing on the porch with his arms folded and a stern look on his face. He apparently isn't so lost in distraction and grief that he's failed to notice that two of his wayward team members were unaccounted for on the property, and given which two, it's not so surprising he'd come looking.

And the moment's gone.

* * *

Inside, the team's split up. Kendra's already sitting in a rocking chair, contentedly rocking one of the littlest residents of the Refuge, and after a moment, Sara goes to join her. Mick and Jax have headed for the kitchens, unsurprisingly, and Raymond and Stein for one of the several libraries—also unsurprisingly.

Len drifts after that last pair, undecided. The ladies' conversation runs too much of a risk of drifting toward his adorable infant self, and that's just a touch unnerving. (He thinks they do it on purpose.) He's not hungry. And the lure of books is strong…

The sound of a footfall, though, makes him turn to the left. He skulks down a corridor, catching a flicker of Hunter's coat as the man heads up a staircase that's nearly concealed around a corner. There's a murmur of voices and as far as Leonard knows, there's only one other adult at the Refuge…

After a moment, he follows them, silent as a lifelong thief can be.

The staircase is narrow and curving; the passageway it ends in, just as close. He trails the voices to a door that's just a crack ajar, then, after a moment and some reflection, moves quickly to the other side so he can peer in the even smaller crack there.

Hunter is pacing; he can see the motion. It's a familiar sight, generally paired with a lecture that he (and Sara, and Mick) usually tunes out…

"…giving up…"

Frowning, Len concentrates on the words.

"You and I both know, Michael, that what the Time Masters call a 'time knot' usually meant 'we don't want to change it, so we'll find a 'reason' why we can't." Mary Xavier's tone is both sympathetic and slightly lecturing. "You're not one to give up. Not usually. And what did I say about wallowing?"

"Is it truly wallowing if…" Hunter's tone drops enough that Leonard can't hear him, but after a moment, his voice rises again. "…if there is truly no hope, it is one thing, but every instinct I have says there is, despite how it seems. Am I fooling myself?

The woman sighs. "Michael," she says fondly, "you came here today to have me tell you what you already know yourself. That if hope remains, you must follow it. Anything else would be a betrayal of who you are."

Len can hear Hunter's sigh. "Well," the other man says after a moment, a thread of humor back in his tone, "I came to check in, too. I said I would."

"You have said many things over the years." Her tone is stern, but then she laughs a little. "Thank you. We…continue. And we wait."

 _For?_ Leonard frowns.

"I don't know if I can do what you want me to do." Hunter's voice is uneasy, and he starts to pace again.

"What you must do. And you already have. At least, you've started."

Their listener wants to hear more along that line, but the captain apparently prefers to avoid it. He's silent for a long moment, moving around the room, and Leonard scans it as best he can through the crack, realizing that they're in another library.

Then he hears a volume being removed from a bookshelf and the sigh Hunter makes as he sees it.

" 'A Wrinkle in Time,'" the captain reads from the cover, then makes a thoughtful noise "I remember reading, and rereading, this copy. Oh, countless times. There's the mended tear in the back corner, where Daniel took it from me that time, and the fold from when Gabrielle borrowed it. I couldn't find it as I got older; thought it just got lost, or someone took it with them." He carefully replaces it on the shelf as Len watches. "I never got my own copy. Meant to read it with Jonas, but, well…"

He sighs again. "I'm going to go consult the science and history libraries; I have before, but you never know. I think the others are enjoying being off the ship, so…we'll stay for dinner, with your permission?"

At her assent, Hunter leaves, never looking back into the corridor and the crook watching from the shadows. Leonard stands a moment, digesting what he's heard, then looks at the door.

After a moment, he sighs…and enters.

Mary Xavier, he's pretty sure, has been waiting for him.

The mistress of the Refuge is sitting behind a desk in the room, which has wide windows letting in the morning sunshine and is, indeed, lined with bookshelves. These aren't the mostly big, leather-bound and serious-looking tones of the other libraries he's seen here, but an eclectic mix: worn paperbacks, colorful picture books, thick novels. Leonard barely gives them a glance, though, however tempted he may be.

Instead, trying for his typical insouciance, he parks his hip against a low table and folds his arms, waiting. Mary regards him for a long moment, then nods.

"Ah," she says, a satisfied sound. "The beautiful baby boy with the big blue eyes." She pauses. "The baby who grew up to destroy the Time Masters."

The words put his hackles up, even though he'd been expecting them. "Not going to apologize…"

But the older woman holds up a hand, shaking her head. "I do not expect you to, Mr. Snart. Yes, you were the one to pull the trigger, as it were, and you nearly paid for that with your life. I do not think you understand just how close that was." She watches him calmly, something uncanny in her own blue gaze. "But the ultimate instrument of their demise was the device they themselves created to control time, and time…does not like to be controlled."

After a moment, she rises from the desk and Leonard, despite himself, takes a step back. There's something that formidable about her. But Mary doesn't approach him. Instead, she leans on her desk, almost matching his own posture, and continues to watch him.

"Perhaps Michael has told you these words; he always liked them," she says. "Time wants to happen. The hand of Time is on you, Leonard Snart. You did its will and you have nearly drowned in its currents—but you survived. Not many can say that."

The words make the feeling of electricity in the air, which had faded, worse. Leonard, unsettled, responds as he often does to discomfort: by attacking. "You're saying something else pulled my strings. Time itself? You expect me to believe that?"

She ignores the adversarial tone "Hmm. Not…quite. What you did, you did because you are you. You acted according to your nature, as Michael does his…as everyone does, really."

"That seems to be a theme, lately," he mutters, which, oddly enough, makes her smile.

"Does it now?" Mary muses. "Something to pay attention to, then. I've learned that when such things seem to reoccur, there's usually reason."

So has he, actually. Len frowns as he watches her, thinking about the conversation he'd overheard.

"You want Hunter to recreate the Time Masters," he says suddenly. "That's what you're waiting for."

She doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Yes. They…something like them…are needed. And there are always children, like the ones here, who will need and suit such an avocation."

The woman before him seems to care for her charges, but knowing what'd recently become of some of them—at his own hand—makes Leonard uneasy with the matter. "You'd have him keep kidnapping kids to turn into…"

But Mary draws herself up and regards him, and her expression's intimidating enough that even Leonard Snart is silenced.

"Really, Mr. Snart? You can think of no reason, no reason at all, why a child might be willing, eager even, to be plucked from his or her life and brought here, where there is plentiful food and warmth, safety and learning?" She spreads her hands to indicate the Refuge, nodding at his expression. "Such it was with all the young ones here."

Lowering her hands, she smiles again. "Who knows? In another timeline, another world, you and your sister might have been Time Masters."

Now, that's a discomforting notion. Mary lets him struggle with it a moment, then shakes her head.

"But," she says, "you're needed where you are, being what you are. Someone who…pays attention. Who listens…" An arch look. "…and learns. And puts odd pieces together." With a sigh, she glances at the door through which her foster son had departed. "Michael thinks like a Time Master now. He probably always will. Dr. Palmer thinks like a scientist, as does Dr. Stein." A slight smirk. "And even Mr. Rory…he's a little more, well, 'out of the box,' as they say, but he's not a plotter, not a planner."

She takes a step closer to Leonard, who shifts uneasily under her steady gaze.

"You…now, you are," she says quietly. "Remember. Perhaps…perhaps they need someone who thinks like a thief. And Michael has apparently forgotten that. They need you."

Her smile, then, turns sad. "And in another timeline, you wouldn't even be here."

He does _not_ like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

But Mary has turned away already, studying the shelves around them, the ones he'd been so intrigued by. "Do you know what these books are? Books and movies; I rather like the formats that let me keep them in physical copies rather than digital." She glances back at him, but barely waits for an answer. "They're stories. Tales of the myriad of ways human beings have conceived of and imagined traveling in and changing time. I keep them so the children know how their kind look at such things, about who knows? They may even get some good ideas."

Pausing, she runs a fingertip over some titles. " 'A Swiftly Tilting Planet,' " she reads. " 'Kindred.' 'The Doomsday Book.' 'The Time-Traveler's Wife.' "

Then, turning, she moves her hand to what appears to be a shelf in a bookcase full of Blu-ray discs. " 'Quantum Leap.' All the various Star Treks. 'Timeless.' 'Doctor Who.' " That one gets a certain mysterious smile, as she looks over her shoulder at him. "Ah. 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.' A fine film, in its quirky way. 'About Time.' 'It's a Wonderful Life.' "

Len's started to retort that that's not quite time travel when the woman lets her hand drop to her side and shakes her head.

" 'Strange, isn't it?'" she quotes, watching him. " 'Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?' "

The silence stretches…and Leonard, suddenly, fervently decides that he doesn't really want to know.

And it hasn't escaped his notice that Mary had said "how _their_ kind."

"So," he drawls, straightening from his lean, "keep paying attention? I can do that."

Mary Xavier, smiling faintly, returns to her desk, taking a seat and watching him. "Excellent. I will see you and your cohorts at dinner. Do try not to get the children too riled up."

Leonard takes a step toward the door, then pauses. Glancing back and thinking, he then turns and walks quickly over to the bookshelf where Hunter had paused earlier. Where…ah.

Sliding the battered copy of "A Wrinkle in Time" from its place, he slips the book into his jacket and looks up.

Mary beams at him.

"Now, that, Mr. Snart," she says, sounding pleased, "is precisely what I was talking about."

* * *

Sara and Kendra are, Jax tells him, giving a group of small girls self-defense lessons out on the Refuge's lawn. Leonard strolls slowly toward then, unable to hide a smile as he sees Sara hunkered down and talking earnestly to a pale-haired mite who might have been her 25 years ago.

She sees him and grins as the kid runs off to the others, then makes a show of looking him up and down.

"You know," she tells him, "we're showing them how to take down a bigger opponent. Even a grown man. You'd make an excellent practice dummy."

Len winces. "Given that I have a pretty good idea how you're showing them to do that, I think I'll pass," he drawls, looking over her shoulder. "Kinda wish there'd been someone to show Lisa how to do that sort of thing. I taught her to fight dirty, but you could have taught her a lot better as a kid." He shrugs at the momentary sympathy in her eyes. "Having fun?"

"Yes, actually." She looks thoughtful, turning to follow his gaze. "This is something I could see myself doing someday. Owning a dojo, I mean, and teaching women and kids how to defend themselves. When time travel gets old. In the future."

… _what the future might hold for me…and you…and…_

"Yeah, I could see that in the future. Not for me. For you," he adds as she glances up at him. "I mean, you're good at it. Not that you're not good at time travel…I…"

 _Damn it, I sound like Allen…_

"Leonard Snart, flustered. Cute." Len takes a step back and looks up to see Kendra watching them and tossing a staff from hand to hand. A smile hovers around her lips, and he's suddenly downright frightened of what she'll say, what insight she'll point out that he's not quite ready to acknowledge. He takes a quick breath, readying something snarky to cut her off, and…

There's a very distinctive brooch on Kendra's sweater, something unique that catches his eye not only because of that distinctiveness…but because he's seen it before.

"What's that?"

The dark-haired woman blinks at him, then looks down at her lapel and smiles, a fond and gentle expression.

"From my Secret Santa, apparently. It was in my room after I got breakfast this morning," she says. "It's appropriate, isn't it?"

"Very." There much be something off about his tone, because both women look at him a little suspiciously. Leonard takes a hasty step back. "Have fun with the little assassins. See you later."

He thinks he hears a giggle as he beats a hasty retreat. He doesn't stop to find out.

* * *

Mick is, completely unsurprisingly, in the kitchen. He is also, somewhat surprisingly, reading. And very surprisingly, wearing the reading glasses that no one else on the Waverider has ever seen. Len ducks his head to steal a look at the title of the book, then barks out a laugh. It's the second half of the Doyle Sherlock Holmes stories.

Mick rolls his eyes at his friend's amusement. "Yeah, yeah. You were right. They're good."

"Told you." Len reaches out and drags up a chair, turning it around backward and perching on it. "Maybe now you'll listen to me about..."

"Don' push yer luck."

Len lets it go. "Ol' Saint Nick get you that?"

"Nah. Found it in the library." He peers over the rims of his glasses. "You think they'd let me borrow it?"

"Was a day you'd just steal it."

"Nah. My luck, all the books in this creepy-ass place'd be cursed."

"Still," Len drawls, leaning back, "I see you made a really nice pick-up in Chicago."

After a moment, Mick peers at him again, then tucks a (clean, Len hopes) napkin in the book's pages and sits it down, leaning back himself. "Seemed right."

"Indeed."

"You got some sorta problem with it, Snart? Didn't get caught."

"Not at all. Like I said…new pick-up. Right from the coat belonging to Capone's mistress? Sweet." Len inspects his nails with studied thoughtfulness. "Carnelian scarab, enamel wings—hawk wings?-marcasite and glass. At an educated guess. Excellent example of the Egyptian Revival pieces of the 1920s."

At another long moment, Mick grunts. "Just thought it suited her."

"Oh, it does." Len tilts his head to the side. "What's going on there, Mick? You pick her in this Santa thing, or was it just a whim?"

"Oh, I did. But I'da taken it for her anyway." The bigger man eyes his friend. "What's it yer business, anyway?"

"Just curious. What's going on with you two?"

Unexpectedly, Mick snorts. "Why? What's goin' on with you and Blondie?"

It's unexpected, from that source, and Len recoils. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I…we're friends." There was a time he wouldn't have admitted to having anything so vulnerable as a "friend."

"Friend, eh? Well. So are we." He shrugs at Len's expression. "We talk."

"Seriously?" He barely knows Kendra, really. Of all the denizens of the Waverider, he probably knows her the least. After all the mess with Savage and the thing with Carter—and Raymond, for that matter-he'd been slightly nonplussed when she'd seen the so-called "Hawkman" settled in 2017 and come back to the Waverider, explaining that she needed to have a life—at least one-as something other than someone's mate.

Len respected that decision, although it'd led to some awkwardness on the ship, at least in the beginning. He's not a fan of Raymond, though he's come to grudgingly respect the man (not that he'll ever admit that out loud). They're too different. But Kendra's phrasing had made even him wince in sympathy. After a few weeks of puppy eyes around her, though, the inventor had apparently decided to be cheerfully upbeat about the whole thing, and if anyone suspected he felt otherwise, they allowed him the illusion.

"Yeah." Mick gives him a flat glare, then sighs. He looks, for a moment, like he's pondering his words, and that's rare enough that Len remains silent, letting him think.

After a moment, he nods to himself, then looks directly at his oldest friend.

"She gets it," he says finally. "Look, Snart. She gets somethin' you never will. Not 'cause you wouldn't try, not 'cause you're dumb or anything like that." His lips twitch as Leonard snorts.

"But…I got millennia in my head, Snart. And yeah, I know I don't talk about it much anymore. But…it happened. It's there, all those years. An' Kendra, she gets that. She's got 'em too."

He's silent while Leonard digests that, turning it over. Acknowledging its truth.

"OK," Len says, finally. "I get that. Best I can, anyway. Not that it's my business…"

"It ain't."

"…but…you two a thing? I mean…all that soulmate crap…and Raymond…"

That gets another snort from Mick, but this one's rueful.

"Don't know that it's like that," the big man says after a minute. "But if it is, if it goes there…it ain't some big, serious thing, like she had with Haircut. It's nothin' that's gotta end with broken hearts or dead bodies, like she was told. Might just be a bit of fun, an we'd keep it real quiet. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

"True."

Mick eyes him a moment, then nods. "We good? Done with this?"

"Fine by me."

"OK, then. And you and Blondie?"

A pause. "Don't, Mick."

"Boss…"

"Don't."

* * *

The rest of their brief stay at the Refuge passes quickly. Len avoids Mary Xavier, but every time he hazards a quick glance her way, she's seemingly uninterested in him, talking earnestly with Rip or Raymond or, at one time, a wide smile on her face, Mick.

Still, he's the first one back on the Waverider, breathing a sigh of relief as he sets foot on the deck, and he breathes another sigh as they take off and enter the time stream. He feels Sara's eyes on him, considering, and even Mick's, but he doesn't comment. He wouldn't be sure what to say anyway.

Rip finds "A Wrinkle in Time," neatly wrapped, in his quarters the next morning, and scans his team's faces with an air of pleased bewilderment before settling in to read.

Over the next few days, Jax gets a sheaf of manuals and diagrams for various timeship varieties, and starts happily going through them and talking to Gideon about possible upgrades. Kendra requests, fervently, a few more bathrooms, and winks at Len when she sees him watching.

Raymond gets a Star Trek script signed by George Roddenberry—it's personalized, and Len eyes the only one on the ship who could have obtained that-and gleefully tries to drag everyone into a Star Trek marathon.

Mick gets a bottle of wine, a particularly fine cabernet, and Len laughs out loud when he realizes it's from Rip's collection. (Stein smirks at him.) Mick, not a wine person at all, is skeptical, but only until Stein, waxing eloquent about the vintage, pops the cork and pours them both a glass.

The wine in the collection starts disappearing faster after that.

And Len finds a package in his own room and, cautiously, unwraps it.

It takes him a moment to realize the rectangular item is a picture frame, folded so that the two photographs in it are face to face. He opens it, and stares in silence at what it contains.

Lisa. Age 9 or thereabouts, he'd guess, right about the age she'd been on the Waverider, when the Pilgrim had threatened and they'd been forced to rescue their loved ones, an event that'd been hard on everyone, but some more than others.

Jax and Raymond, he's pretty sure, had it the worst. But Lisa…she'd been so young, and still had so much, for better or for worse, ahead of her….

She's laughing, right out loud, in the left photo, an expression of joy that he can't remember seeing, ever. Captured on one of Gideon's cameras, so far as he can tell, no fear or trepidation in her face.

He has no photographs of her at that age; when he left the house on Hadley Avenue, he'd taken almost nothing with him, and he'd never gone back.

Correction: He'd gone back once.

The opposing photo is a larger, better copy of a tattered snapshot he'd had tucked in his desk, grown Lisa and grown Len, glancing at each other, their expressions showing, if not affection, than at least a form of camaraderie. Mick had taken it, almost by accident, trying to figure out how to use a camera they'd needed for a job, and Len had found it when developing the film.

Keeping it, bringing it, had been sentiment. Something that, until fairly recently, he'd tried to banish from his life.

Only two people besides himself have ever seen that photo.

"Gideon…"

"Yes, Mr. Snart."

"…never mind."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this is so long after my original deadline! But at least it's a long one. Plot happened. ;)

Many thanks to LarielRomeniel, who helped all this timey-whimey stuff make sense, and made some great additions.

* * *

For a handful of days after they leave the Refuge, things go back to normal.

Well, as normal as they ever get on the Waverider, which means Sara and Kendra get to gleefully protect women's suffrage protestors at the White House in 1917 and get decked out in '80s finery to go dancing in 1981; Stein and Jax get mistaken as spies in 2001 Ontario, Canada; and Leonard, Mick, and Raymond go drinking with Alexandre Dumas in 1844 and accidentally wind up inspiring "The Three Musketeers."

Raymond finds a new enthusiasm, chattering away to Gideon about Palmer Tech's robotics work and how AIs could be used in robotic bodies. The AI he's speaking to is blatantly intrigued, and it becomes a common sight to come across Raymond holding up technical drawings for Gideon's sensors to examine.

Rip, during all this, is his usual aggravated self, and Len figures the distractions can't be a bad thing for the man. (Well, that's his story and he's sticking to it.) He's rather irritated by his own increased sympathy, to be honest, but the quiet conversation he'd eavesdropped on at the Refuge keeps replaying in his head, and even he isn't totally without a heart.

In between missions, he and Sara find time to finish "The Untouchables" and promptly continue to "Goodfellas." She doesn't comment on the photographs on his desk; he doesn't either. They drink more of Rip's booze, and discuss heists, and get as close to cuddling as they have yet. (Sara snuggles into his side, an ankle hooked over the top of his; he hesitates, then puts a casual arm around her shoulders. Neither of them comments on that, either.)

The day Raymond has determined is their "Christmas" is fast approaching, and Len thinks he's got a pretty good idea who'd selected whom in the whole Secret Santa thing. Sara's challenge aside, though, he's still pondering what one does for the captain who only wants one—or two—things.

And that, along with Mary's exhortation to pay attention, sends him to linger outside the doorway to Rip's study one day while the brain trust (and Mick, who insists he's "not one of those nerds, not really") is meeting. After a moment, he shrugs and requests entry, which Gideon grants with alacrity.

It's a somber group he walks in on. Rip, who's sitting in his chair with his head in his hands, looks up and sighs.

"Yes, Mr. Snart?" he says with resignation. "What fresh crisis has emerged while we've been closeted in here? Has Mr. Jackson annoyed Gideon by trying to obtain spoilers for 'Game of Thrones' again? Or have you all finally worked your way through the onboard alcohol and resorted to building a still in the rec room?"

"Now, there's an idea," Mick rumbles in the background, with a quiet (and only slightly unexpected) agreement from the professor. Raymond gives them both a look he obviously thinks is quelling, but in truth is really more comical.

Whatever. Len shrugs and focuses on the captain.

"Nope," he drawls, leaning against the wall. "Just wondered how it was going. It's one of the reasons we all hung around after all. To help with this."

Rip regards him a moment, then sighs again. (Leonard decides he's getting sick of sighs.)

"Nowhere," the captain says (with another sigh). "It's going nowhere. Thank you for inquiring." With that, he rises, reaches behind a nearby bookshelf and extracts a bottle of something potent looking. (Well, damn. Apparently they've missed a hiding spot.) "Now, I'm going to go wallow a bit, if you'll excuse me. Alert me if there are any problems, Gideon."

"Yes, captain." The AI's voice is quiet and almost melancholy, but Rip doesn't react. He just heads purposefully for the doorway and, presumably, his rooms.

The others watch him go.

After a minute, Raymond sighs. He looks at the others, then at Len, and shakes his head.

"I don't know," he says mournfully. "We've looked into all sorts of time-travel theory: tesseracts and wormholes, the Tipler Cylinder, weirder stuff, to get around the time knot. We've gone the other way and thought about a big assault on London, even getting Oliver and Barry and all the others to help, to just kind of…overpower…the timeline. Nothing pans out once we really pick it apart." He shrugs. "You know, I kinda think Rip has the right idea." As Leonard watches in bemusement, the scientist crosses to the bookshelf and peers behind it before removing a bottle. He glances at the others, shrugs, and heads to the door himself, vanishing without another word.

"Haircut was kinda thinkin' that if we manage to save Rip's wife and kid, we might be able to figure out how to save his fiancée. Err, the first one," Mick says after a few moments of silence. "Same problem. He doesn't lose her, he doesn't come on this mission, and he's not here to work on the puzzle. Around and around in circles. I don't get all the theory; Time Masters didn't think I was that bright, you know?" He casts a look at Len and Stein. "He tries and drinks that whole bottle, he's gonna regret it. I'm gonna go help." He pauses, then adds defensively, "Hey, it looked like good stuff. And Haircut with a hangover is a pain in the ass."

But Len doesn't comment, allowing Mick his excuse, and the bigger man leaves. Stein leans back in the armchair he's claimed, rubbing his eyes. After a second, Len crosses to the chair next to him, dropping into it with a huff and watching until the older man lowers his hand and focuses on him.

"Professor," he drawls, leaning back himself. "Tell me more about this 'time knot' thing Mick and Raymond mentioned." He smirks. Gotta maintain the image. "I'm curious."

Stein eyes him, then shrugs. "Well," he says, voice taking on the familiar lecturing tone, "it's also known as a causal loop…"

He explains, in slightly more involved words, exactly what Raymond had explained before—that if Rip's family doesn't die, then he doesn't go against the Time Masters, he doesn't recruit the Legends, Leonard doesn't blow up the Vanishing Point, and countless little things in between don't happen. So there's no way they can be here, trying to figure out how to save his family. "Time simply will not allow the rescue to occur. And there's really no way around it, not that we've found."

Len frowns, trying to untangle it. "I see what you mean."

Stein nods. "If we're involved at all…it can't happen. And we're already involved."

Leonard nods, staring off into the distance, turning the puzzle around in his head. The way to handle dilemmas like this, he's learned, is to try to take a step outside them, to look at them dispassionately, to look at them like…

And then it clicks.

"I think," he says slowly, "that maybe you can't think like a hero for this. Or even a scientist."

Stein regards him for a moment.

"And what," he says finally, "do you mean by that?"

"You need," Len tells him, "to think like a thief."

"Mr. Rory has been contributing ideas," Stein points out.

"And Mick is fantastic at the smash and grab," Len countered. "But this heist needs to be more subtle. Get in, get what you're after, get away."

Stein frowns. "But that still creates the paradox. We can't be…"

"What if he doesn't know we are?"

The older man peers at him. "Excuse me?"

"What if Rip doesn't know about it? Not until…after?" He stands, paces a few steps away, then turns back to Stein, who's risen from his chair. "After their _supposed_ deaths, after he recruits us, after…everything."

"You mean, steal them from the timeline." Stein shakes his head. "We did consider that. But Captain Hunter has to see their bodies, and based on his notes, by the time he leaves them they've been dead for too long for Gideon to revive them."

Len holds up a finger. "Gotta keep thinking like a criminal here, Professor. What if we do a little… forgery? Make Rip believe he's found the bodies of his family…"

Stein's eyes widen. "But he's actually found… _fakes_?"

"Fakes that are real enough to send him on this crazy quest," Len nods. "Sucks to be him in the meantime, but has a payoff that makes up for it," he adds. "Could it work?"

He watches the older man consider, watches the brilliant and analytical mind behind the absent-minded professor façade pick over his possible solution. Leonard has a decent idea just how intelligent Stein is, and he respects it—he'll just never, ever admit it. Not out loud, anyway.

He sees the moment the professor comes to his conclusion, watches Stein lift his head and meet his eyes, something that might almost be hope (and the blazing love of a puzzle, something they share) inside them.

"That could work," Stein breathes. "That truly could work."

"Perfect. Just one bit of business, then." He glances up. "Gideon?"

The response is prompt. He knew it would be. "Yes, Mr. Snart?"

"Before we go any further with this, can you keep this a secret? From your captain?" He pauses. "Because there's no point at all if you can't."

Leonard paces a few more steps, the adrenaline that's always part of a well-planned heist starting to prickle in his system. He can do this. He wants to do this. As always, the questionable factor is the others who will have to be involved. "He can't have any idea. Not even a clue. You're going to have to keep quiet and you might have to lie outright. Can you do that?"

The pause is long, for Gideon. Len and Stein wait, both aware that all the possibilities hinge on her answer.

"There are…emergency protocols, for such things," the AI says finally, slowly. "This would benefit Captain Hunter immeasurably if you manage it. But someone needs to invoke them. Mr. Rory may know how. And I believe Mr. Jackson does as well, from all his research and his talks with Mr. Rory."

Len nods sharply, trying not to show the relief that rushes through him. He's already invested in this caper.

"Let's get the kid in on this, because we'll need a jump-ship pilot," he says, turning to Stein. "And he's gonna know something's up through that weird link you got, right?"

Stein nods, a faint smile on his face. "I can already feel his curiosity. Adrenaline is a very difficult thing to conceal—as is hope." He pauses. "In fact, I give him maybe five minutes before he seeks me out to see what is going on."

"Good." Pieces of the puzzle are rattling around in his head, starting to fit together. But if this is going to work…

Len turns abruptly and looks at his unexpected cohort in this heist. "No one else knows," he says decisively. "Not Mick, not Kendra. And especially not…" He adds "Raymond" just as Stein chimes in with "Dr. Palmer," and smirks as the older man chuckles.

"And Ms. Lance?" Stein says quietly, watching Len in return. "Shall we tell her?"

He's been pondering that. And the answer he has is not the one he wants to have.

"No. Not that I don't trust her," Len adds almost hastily. "It's just that the fewer people know about this, the better. We might need to let someone else in at the end…but until then, we keep it between the three of us. The four," he corrects himself with another upward glance.

"Thank you, Mr. Snart." Gideon's voice is pleased.

Len nods absently, glancing toward the door. "Is Jax…?"

"On his way."

"Good. We're going to have to put this together quick." He watches as Stein heads to Hunter's desk, sorting through the papers there. "Really quick. The longer it goes on, the more likely it is someone starts putting two and two together, asking questions, and then letting Hunter in on it, which could ruin everything."

"Hmm. Yes." The older man glances up, then. "One more thing, before Jefferson arrives and we start to plot in earnest…"

Leonard waits. Stein seems to pick over his words, but finally just shrugs, fixes Len with a direct look, and says one word. "Why?"

Len stares at him. "Why, what?"

Stein takes a seat at the desk, still looking through the papers, then glances back up at him. "The Leonard Snart I got on this ship with was in it only for himself," he says after a moment. "He wasn't shy about that. Gloried in it, even." The professor holds up a hand as Len starts to speak. "As time went on, that changed. I know that; we all do. You've saved all our lives at some point.

"But…as you've said, you look out for your crew. Even what you did at the Oculus, you did to save Mr. Rory and free our destinies. Still self-interest, of a sort, albeit very heroic self-interest."

Len twitches at the "H" word. "Spit it out, professor."

"You do not know these people. Miranda, Jonas." Stein regards him. "They are not part of your…crew. There is no possible reason for you to get involved in this except to…do a good thing. Save two lives, perhaps in some ways three. It will not be without the possibility of danger, if I understand correctly. So…why?"

He should say something snarky, Len knows. Something diverting. He's not a hero. Never has been. Never will…

Instead he just looks at the other man and cannot, for the life of him, come up with a good rejoinder.

After a moment, Stein nods once, a somehow satisfied gesture, then looks to the door as Jax stalks in, an expression on his face that somehow manages to be both intensely curious and world weary beyond his years. (It's not an uncommon expression, for Jax.)

"Hello, Jefferson," Stein says, looking down at the papers and allowing Len his conflicted thoughts. "Thank you for joining us. Now, Mr. Snart, what were you thinking about when this 'extraction' needs to take place?"

* * *

For all his protests about "geez, Gray, what're you up to now?" Jax is in for their plot the moment it's explained to him. He's able to quickly set Gideon's emergency protocols, retroactive to when Len and Stein started their conversation about time knots, and Len breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he does so. (With just a tiny part of him wondering how he could have used that information before. He's… pragmatic.)

Hunter has detailed notes on the timeline leading up to his family's death, and even Len winces as he thinks about how the man had to have compiled these, forced to bear witness to the tragedy again and again. But it makes no sense not to use them, and his crook's soul appreciates the detail and thoroughness. He and Stein start looking for a point in the narrow window before the two leave their home to try to make a run for safety they know may not exist, yet after any of Rip's rescue attempts.

It's tricky, a little, keeping the team from even suspecting, but not as tricky as it might have been once. Stein and Len play chess—both good enough to keep dragging the game out if they must—then switch to a puzzle of a different sort when any possible audience wanders off. It doesn't take long, really, to pinpoint their target time, and figure out the lay of the land for Whitechapel 2166.

Sara gives him a considering look, a few times, as he opts for chess instead of cards or movies. But she doesn't ask, and he doesn't have to lie to her.

It startles him, a little, how relieved he is at that.

Meanwhile, Gideon and Jax—under the excuse of working out some of those upgrades-begin using the ship's fabrication capabilities and the plans Raymond had showing the AI to… forge copies of Miranda and Jonas. They only have to fool two people, if they do this right: Vandal Savage, who's never met them, and Rip—and only their bodies have to fool the latter.

So: Automatons, or so Gideon calls them, able to be programmed to perform certain actions and make certain responses. Over the metal frames and computer brains, organic tissue, produced much in the way the ship had managed to reconstruct his right hand. They can even bleed, a little. They don't really have to show pain—at least Savage had done his work quickly.

The pain he'd been going for, after all, had been Rip's.

Gideon, who's helped the captain try to save his family far longer than any of them, quietly details what Rip has been able to reconstruct of Miranda and Jonas' last moments. (Len decides he rather likes the kid.) That's really the longest part of the process, and the three of them agree to leave just as soon as the decoys are completed and programmed with the actions they'll need to perform to fulfill their role.

Of course, that winds up being at the most inconvenient time possible.

* * *

"Mr. Snart?"

"What's up, Gideon?" Len gives the suit he'd acquired via the fabrication room one more once-over before shrugging and dragging his shirt over his head to change. He'd scoffed at Raymond's cheerful request that they all dress up for "Christmas Eve" dinner on the ship-but then Sara'd leaned over and whispered that she had the most _amazing_ new dress to wear. And then she'd winked at him.

He can take a hint.

Well, he does like dressing up. (Just not on Raymond's say-so.) The fabrication room is better than any tailor, and he knows he looks damned good in the gray suit. He has his best deductions (he doesn't _guess_ ) written out and tucked in an envelope to give to Sara, as per their bet-as well as a small gift for her, something he actually acquired by legitimate means. He'll leave that here, though—no need to look sentimental around the others.

He has Rip's gift, too, meant for tomorrow: a version of the man's duster, the pattern gleaned from Gideon's files, imbued with some of the warming tech from the latest version of his parka. (The work of the lot at STAR Labs, who'd been equal parts gleeful and taken aback by his presence with the Legends.) It should be useful in colder climates. It's really too bad, though, that he hadn't been able to pull off their plan before…

Later, he'll figure that thought had counted as tempting fate.

"Mr. Jackson says it's time." Although no one else can hear them, Gideon's tone is low. "I concur."

Len stops in the act of pulling on his suit jacket. "Seriously?"

"Mr. Snart, I am always serious." The AI's tone is disapproving. "Especially about something as important as this."

"It was rhetorical, Gideon." The adrenaline is starting to flood his system again, and he starts pulling plans and logistics up in his head. "Right when everyone on this ship is actually going to be looking for us," he mutters, hanging the jacket back up and reaching for the bag he had ready for just this moment. "Peachy."

"I will cover for you as much as I can," Gideon reminds him. "With any luck, you will be able to return to only a few moments after you leave, and it will be no problem."

Len snorts as he starts to unbutton his shirt. "You rely on luck about as much as I do. Too uncertain."

"Correct. But that does not mean it does not exist."

* * *

Jax is already loitering around outside his room when Len ducks out, looking far too suspicious. Still, they're alone, so no harm done. The younger man relaxes just a touch when he sees his older cohort, leaning forward.

"The doppelgangers are programmed and in the jump ship," he says quietly. "We need to move."

"I know, kid." Len claps the younger man on the shoulder as they start to walk. "The professor?"

"On his way." Jax grins a little. "He's excited."

"Space Ranger Stein, back for a new mission, eh?" The idea makes him smile too. "Well, the whole idea here is that we get in and out without even being noticed; there shouldn't be anything we can't handle." He glances at Jax. "No Firestorm. Not unless something goes completely off the rails and it's the only way to get you two out of there unharmed. But if it comes down to that, don't hesitate."

"And what about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm tricky." He smirks, trying to conceal the prickle of unease at the idea of getting stuck in the city as Savage's troops roll in. Rip's notes had been…chilling. "I'll survive. It's what I do."

Jax glances over at him at the words, but shakes his head, and doesn't comment.

All three of them have drab clothes that won't elicit any suspicion in the tense, troubled area that is 2166 Whitechapel just before all goes to hell-even Jax who, if all goes according to plan, will remain at the jump ship to wait for them.

Stein is, indeed, waiting at the jump ship dock, wearing his beret from the whole "time pirate" incident again and looking altogether too pleased at his role in this adventure. The three men regard each other for a moment, and then Leonard nods, motioning to the ship. It's time to do this.

For better, or for worse.

"Len!"

Leonard freezes in place as Jax swears from the jump ship hatch and even Stein mutters something under his breath.

"What the hell are you three doing?"

Slowly, he turns. Sara's standing just a little farther down the corridor, watching them, a frown on her face. She's wearing a vivid red dress with a plunging neckline and an asymmetrical hem that shows off her legs, and Len swallows at the sight, his mouth going dry.

Partly because of how gorgeous she looks. Partly because of how pissed she is.

"And why," Sara adds, taking a step toward them, studying their clothing and frowning, obviously realizing this is no mere joyride, "didn't you invite me?"

Behind him, Stein and Jax are silent. Leaving it to him, then. Len drags in a breath.

"We can't tell you, Sara. We _really_ can't tell you. Just…" He lets out the breath, spreading his hands. "Trust me?" Another beat. "Please?"

He never says please. Sara studies him, then glances at Jax and Stein, then back. He'd give a lot to know what's going on behind her eyes, but after only a moment or moment, she nods.

"I trust you," she tells him. "You're a jerk, and you're explaining this as soon as you can, but I trust you. OK?"

"OK." In for a penny… "Can you run interference for us with Raymond and his whole holiday spectacular? His timing sucks. If this goes right, we'll be back very soon."

Sara nods. "And if it doesn't?"

And if it doesn't… "You'll know that pretty soon, too." He's told Gideon what to tell her, if something happens to him. "We have to go, Sara."

She nods again, eyes serious, then takes another step toward him.

"If you die again doing whatever stupid-ass thing you three are going off to do," she says in a low voice, the words clearly directed at him, "I'm going to find a way to resurrect you so I can kill you again."

"Wasn't really dead the first time." But he hesitates, then nods, turning back to the jump ship and his fellow plotters, who—to his discomfort—are watching them intently.

Jax just (badly) hides a smile. But the professor looks at Len. Then looks at Sara. And then at Len. There's a steely light in the older man's eyes and Len suddenly realizes that if he doesn't say or do…something…in the next few moments, the professor _will_.

Ah, hell.

Taking a deep breath, he turns again. Sara's still watching him, something complicated in her gaze, and he'd give a lot to know what she's thinking. This is a lot more public than the last time he'd made any sort of overture—but at least she's not nearly as pissed at him.

He thinks.

Maybe…it's better not to use words.

He starts toward her, still searching her eyes, and he sees the moment she registers the determination in his gaze, the intent in his expression. She smiles, the look in her eyes turns warm and…and, OK, has he really been wasting all this time wondering how she felt?

Sara takes a step toward him right as he's about to close the distance, closing it herself, and he puts his hands on her hips, pulling toward him, and lowers his mouth to hers.

After the first pleasant shock of contact, Sara puts her hands on the back of his head and pulls him even closer, opening her mouth under his with a purr, and he relaxes into the kiss as he registers just how amenable to this move she is, moving a hand to her jaw and adjusting the angle just a little.

She tastes faintly sweet, like apples, like the sparkling cider Gideon can be persuaded to make now and again for special occasions, and he wants nothing more than to do this forever, to make up for all the lost time, to see what happens if he moves his mouth to her jaw, to her neck, to her shoulder…

They don't have time. Again, they don't have time.

Damnit.

"Hell of a thief?" he mutters against her lips as they regretfully break the kiss.

"Hell of a thief," Sara confirms, before darting in for one more quick kiss, then putting her hands on his chest and pushing him firmly back. "Now, go be a stupid hero again. Don't die."

"Not planning on it." Len takes one last long look, then nods, turning and heading for the jump ship.

He doesn't look back. He doesn't dare.

* * *

Stein and Jax wait at the hatch until he reaches them, then all three men pile into the ship, moving as quickly as they can. Len hazards a glance as he sits in one of the auxiliary seats, Stein dropping into the one besides him as Jax takes the pilot's chair.

They're both grinning.

"Not a word," he tells them, strapping in, trying to make his tone cold, forbidding.

"'Course not," Jax says from his seat, flipping switches as Gideon gives the ship its coordinates. "You know, though, I don't think 'Captain Cold' really works for you anymore… how about 'Captain Steal Yo Girl?' "

Stein chuckles. Len closes his eyes with a sigh.

"I think Sara would have something to say about that," he corrects mildly. "She's...her own."

Nope. He's never going to hear the end of this.

* * *

They have to bring the ship in low and dark, as Savage's troops are already surrounding the area, and it's really a good thing Jax has become such an excellent pilot. He sets them down neatly in the park they'd pinpointed. Len, stepping from the ship, scans the area, noting the stillness, the feeling of impending doom. He's not normally given to such fancies…but, well, there it is.

He's studying the nearby playground equipment—such things apparently don't change much over the years—that a young Jonas Hunter presumably has used when Stein joins him, touching his elbow to avoid startling him. There are two cloaked figures standing next to him, one taller, one smaller—the doppelgangers. He can't see their faces yet, but their silence is unnerving.

Still, if all goes right, they'll be saving two lives tonight.

Jax, who's climbed back into the jump shirt after loading the decoys, leans back out to watch them.

"You two don't do anything stupid," the young man hisses.

Leonard snorts, quietly, but nods. Then, exchanging a glance with Stein, he heads for the barely lit line of houses.

* * *

The Hunter home is one of those that's nearly completely dark. Len restrains a shudder at the thought of the woman and boy huddled in the darkness, knowing that Savage's forces are surrounding them, knowing that any help is unlikely.

The front door is locked. But he's a crook, after all. Even the very sturdy mechanism falls to him, well within the time he'd allotted for it, and he nods with satisfaction as he cracks the door open, Stein (and the doppelgangers) hovering behind them.

He's expecting it, but the sound of a gun being cocked in the darkness still makes him twitch. He freezes, putting his bare hands up in a gesture of peace, and looking toward the source as his eyes grow more accustomed to the darkness.

The dark-haired woman in front of him is holding an impressively large gun of some manufacture, nothing he recognizes. Innate curiosity makes him immediately want to examine the weapon—but that's probably better saved for a time when it's not being pointed at him.

"Explain," she says, simply. And he knows perfectly well, from what he's read about her, that if he doesn't answer immediately and in a satisfactory manner, he's dead.

"Miranda," he breathes. "I know you don't know me. But Gideon says, Code SarahConnor." He pauses, then adds: "Come with me if you want to live."

Stein sighs behind him. Len shrugs without looking. "What?" he drawls. "It's not fair Palmer was the only one who got to say that." Even while he's speaking, though, he keeps watching Miranda Coburn-Hunter. There'd been a very subtle movement in her shoulders at the code words, but her expression's still forbidding.

"Who sent you?" she asks, not lowering the weapon.

"The man born Michael Carter," he says in the next step in the code Gideon'd told them, then pauses. "In a way. It's complicated."

Miranda actually relaxes just enough to snort. "It generally is," she comments, studying him in the dark. "Gideon… he told you? And where is he?"

"Gideon identifies as female," Len tells her. "And she's on the Waverider, where she always is. Well, almost always, now. Where I'll take you now, if you just come with us."

At that, Miranda finally lowers the gun.

"All right," she says, placing it in a holster along her thigh. "We have to move anyway. I've had a go bag packed for weeks."

"And?"

She lifts an eyebrow at him, waiting for the next part of the code.

"And your son," Leonard adds. "Jonas Theodore. He was named after Jonah Hex."

Miranda studies him, and then nods one more time.

"Come out, Jonas," she says quietly. "It's OK."

There's a movement from a doorway nearby, and then part of the shadows resolves into a boy, who watches them with wary eyes. A bag is clutched tightly in one hand—and a knife in the other. Len nods approvingly, glancing back at Miranda, who's retrieved her own bag from somewhere and is scanning her home, one last time.

"I'm Leonard," he tells her as she looks back at him. "This is Martin. We…work with your husband."

"You're not Time Masters." Her words are definite, but she doesn't seem bothered by the fact. Or the fact that her words make Leonard cough and Stein chuckle. Instead, she looks to the cloaked and hooded figures behind them. "And them?"

"They're something else entirely," Stein says, moving over. "Ah…this may be a little disconcerting." He pulls off the bigger figure's cloak, then reaches for the smaller one, revealing figures in the form of the woman and boy before them, standing with blank eyes and motionless features. Jax and Gideon had programmed two stages into them, including one where they simply had to follow the others to their destination before becoming fully activated.

"Whoa," says Jonas, moving forward a little more, staring at the doppelgangers and suddenly transformed from a silent specter to an 8-year-old boy. "That is _so_ cool."

"It's creepy, is what it is," Miranda murmurs, examining her doppelganger. "Why…"

"They won't do anything but go to the correct place at the correct time, and provide certain…responses," Stein tells her. "It's…necessary."

After another moment, Miranda nods. Then she looks at Leonard again.

"I understand there's not time now," she says, staring him down. "But I'm going to need an explanation."

Leonard snorts. "You're not the only one," he mutters, thinking of Sara. "You'll get it. Soon. But now we have to move, quickly."

"Lead on."

* * *

Jax lets out a whoop as he sees Miranda and Jonas climbing onboard, even as he starts the ship's engines. Len, looking out at the lights and shadows that mark Savage's troops as they climb silently into the night, sees them start to move, the noose that's around Whitechapel starting to close. Miranda, who'd eschewed the jump seat he'd given up and tucked Jonas, whose adrenaline was starting to flag, into it instead, moves to his shoulder, watching them too.

"We were going to run for it, when we realized," she says quietly. "Is that what…those things…are going to do?"

"Yeah." He doesn't tell her, yet, what else they're doing to do. He's pretty sure she has a very good idea.

"Guys, we're high enough," Jax tells them, reaching for the controls. "Brace yourselves."

They do. The last thing Len sees before the flickering images of a time jump surround them is a fire, erupting in the darkness, as the bombs start to explode.

* * *

Jumping into the time stream is never as rough as a time-to-time jump. Len merely shakes his head to clear it, noting with amusement that Miranda didn't even twitch.

"It shouldn't take long to get to the Waverider," Jax tells them, checking readings. "But…there's a little turbulence and I'm going to go around it, so that will take a bit. A few hours, I think. But since it worked, Gideon—and Sara—must have been able to keep everyone from figuring things out."

Miranda nods, then turns to Len with determination in her eyes. "Now. We have time. Explain."

He's pretty sure there will be no gainsaying her, and she should really be filled in before they get to the ship, anyway. "OK." He glances at Jonas, who's listening with fascination to some tale Stein is spinning for him. "He…probably shouldn't hear it. Not yet."

And then he tells her a tale, too. A true one. The story of an immortal dictator, a meteorite, and the man who'd loved her so much he'd been determined to do anything to save her—including gathering a motley bunch of people with no impact on the timeline whatsoever, and offering them the chance to be legends.

He's reminded, belatedly, that Miranda had been a Time Master herself, but he tells her about the Oculus anyway, their assault on the Vanishing Point, what he'd done—and its results.

But all sympathy for her former organization has apparently fled, if not for the way they'd forced her to resign, then with the realization of how they'd arranged for her murder and that of her child. In fact, there's satisfaction in her expression as she digests his story, and Leonard decides, again, that this is _not_ a woman to cross.

"And you?" she says, watching him with more perception than he's really comfortable with. "How did you survive?"

He shrugs, still uncomfortable with the subject. "Don't know. Blast apparently knocked me into the time stream; they pulled me out."

"But you didn't know that. When you did it."

He shrugs again. Miranda studies him a moment longer, then puts a hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she says, simply.

By the time the Waverider, floating in the sea of green that is the time stream, appears in the viewscreen, it's been nearly four hours, much to Jax's annoyance. ("At least Sara knows why her gift's late," he sighs, leading Leonard to nod in satisfaction at one correct deduction.) Jonas has fallen asleep in his seat, head on Stein's shoulder, to the older man's amusement, and even Miranda is flagging just a little, leaning against the wall, eyes on the viewscreen. (She'd refused to sit.)

When they finally see it, though, Jax lets out a relieved noise, nodding to himself and checking more readings before grinning and turning to look at them.

"By ship's time," he says, "it's just about to be midnight."

And therefore, by Raymond's reckoning, Christmas. Leonard lets out a soft "huh" as Stein chuckles quietly behind them and Miranda lifts an eyebrow.

"Season of miracles, by many traditions," Stein says softly, glancing at the sleeping boy. "When better?"

They dock without incident, without even waking Jonas. Leonard pauses, then at a nod from Miranda, bends and lifts the child, cradled in his arms, as Jax opens the hatch. They step out together, Leonard slightly surprised to see there's no irate captain waiting.

Miranda makes a noise that's nearly a sob as she steps onto the Waverider's deck and Stein pats her shoulder in paternal fashion. Slowly, the little group starts down the corridor.

"Ms. Cobur…Miranda," Gideon says quietly, startling them. "Welcome back. I…it is wonderful to see you."

"Thank you, Gideon," Miranda whispers, trailing her fingers along the wall panels. "I…understand it's been longer than I realized."

The AI's response is drowned out, though, by Sara, who turns into the corridor at nearly a run, letting out a noise of relief as she sees them.

"I was getting wor…" she starts to greet them, words trailing off as she registers the boy in Len's arms, the woman standing nearby.

There's no way, living on this ship as long as she has, that Sara can't know who they are. She declines to comment, though. Instead, she locks eyes with Miranda for a moment before nodding, exchanging looks with Stein and Jax, and then meeting Len's gaze.

He's not sure quite what he sees there. But he's pretty sure he'll find out later.

For better or for worse.

Slowly, the little group makes its way to the bridge, where, Sara says, the rest are waiting with a certain annoyed patience for their missing teammates. She and Gideon had apparently backed each other up with a story of last-minute "Christmas" shopping hijinks, knowing that something innocuous and even faintly ridiculous would be the best way to keep the captain from actively trying to figure out what they were up to.

There's a Christmas tree up on the bridge, Len sees, and lights arrayed around the room. Raymond, who's sitting in one of the jump seats and talking to Mick, glances up as they enter, his mouth falling open. Micks just blinks at them, then grunts in satisfaction, leaning back.

"Knew you were up to somethin'," he mutters. Len smirks at him, continuing toward the man who's standing, his back to them, next to the captain's chair.

Miranda stops in her tracks when she sees him, the tears starting to fall, and Sara pauses with her, Kendra joining them. Rip is still staring out at the time stream and doesn't seem to notice that anything's off.

"Mr. Snart," he says with a sigh, holding his glass up to the light without turning. "I trust you have a good explanation for stealing my jump ship and dragging Dr. Stein and Mr. Jackson off on one of your crazy schemes. I can only hope it wasn't the heist of something truly valuable."

"It was, actually," Len murmurs, stopping right behind him. "Think you'll be OK with it, though."

Rip turns, and his glass slips out of his suddenly nerveless hand, shattering on the deck. The captain's face as he catches sight of Jonas, still sleeping but definitely, obviously _alive_ , is a vision.

If Leonard were acting according to his usual MO, this would be the time to say something snarky. He finds, however, that he doesn't really have it in him. Not right now. Reaching the stunned captain, he gently transfers the sleeping boy to Rip, stepping back as the man's arms tighten reflexively around his son.

"Dude," Jax says quietly, watching. "You win Christmas."

"Rip!" Miranda steps around the others, suddenly stirred into action. Rip stares at her like a man in a dream as she moves toward him before finally throwing her arms around her husband and son. Jonas wakes with a sleepy mutter, rubbing his eyes before finally focusing on Rip's face and yelling, "Daddy!"

Suddenly, everyone's talking, and more than one person has tears running down their face. Rip sinks to the captain's chair with his family in his arms, and Stein and Gideon are giving everyone the abbreviated version of what happened, and all is chaos—happy chaos, for once.

Leonard's a bit startled to realize that even his eyes are damp. Stepping away from the scene, he takes a deep breath, feeling the post-heist adrenaline starting to recede.

He's not sure any other heist will ever match this.

And he's pretty sure, thinking about the future, that that's OK.

* * *

It's hours later when he looks around the bridge and realizes Sara is no longer there. It's not so surprisingly, really. It's taken quite a while for things to calm down, for all the explanations to be given and all the stories to be told. Raymond had insisted on a second feast, a treat for a woman and boy who'd been living in a near-warzone, and Kendra had gone to the fabrication room and made sure there were gifts for Jonas, who'd left nearly everything he owned behind in 2166.

Leonard, once he'd given all the explanations he was going to, had pretty much collapsed into a jump seat with a drink, watching as his teammates brought out their gifts for each other, nodding to himself as he'd confirmed his deductions.

Jax had vanished and hurried back to the bridge with a wrapped box for Sara, apologizing profusely even as she laughed at him. She'd kissed him on the cheek when she'd unwrapped the new bo staffs, made to collapse to no longer than a handspan. ("You know, the better to be all sneaky-like. Like someone else we know." He'd grinned at Leonard, who'd ignored him.)

Stein presented Mick with a tiny package, no bigger than his palm. Mick had stared at him a moment, then opened it, raising an eyebrow at the thumb drive inside. He grinned, though, when the professor told him that it contained every TV or movie iteration of Sherlock Holmes he could find—and more reading material.

"That includes the physics primer I used for students," he told the bigger man sternly, to Len's amusement. "You said the Time Masters didn't think you were all that bright, but I know from all our brainstorming sessions that you are certainly intelligent enough to learn the basic theory on your own. If you want to."

Mick leaned back in his chair and stared at Stein for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"You know, professor," he said after a moment, "I kinda think I do."

Stein himself unwraps a thin package from a gleeful Ray to find a pristine 15th issue of "Showcase" comics-the one in which Space Ranger Rick Starr premiered. It's signed by the artist to "Space Ranger Martin" and reduces the professor to a giddy 8-year-old boy in the matter of moments. Gideon promises to make him a display case for it.

She also promises to help Kendra create a rack for her gift—a mace very like the one Carter had kept when they'd gone their separate ways, composed of a light, but very strong alloy and sized to her hand. Mick had presented it with the satisfaction with which some men might have delivered a fancy piece of jewelry or a dozen roses, and Kendra'd let out a yelp of delight at the sight of it. Rip, though not nearly so long suffering as usual, finally had to ask her to stop swinging it on the bridge.

("Don't you love that it's the ladies who got the weapons on this ship? Seems just about right," Len muttered to Stein as they watched. Stein, paging avidly through his comic, had laughed and agreed.)

Kendra gave Jax a tiny box that had contained a single key. The young man had blinked at her a moment until she'd explained that it went to a 1941 Cadillac convertible coupe she'd owned during a prior life—a car that'd been put away in storage, its rent in a sealed garage paid for by her estate. ("Well, Carter's too, but he's not interested.") She'd had a flash of memory about it while they were in Chicago, and later convinced Rip to let her claim it from 1971, posing as her own granddaughter.

Jax had responded to the news that this piece of automotive history was waiting for him in one of the lower holds, ready to be restored, with wide eyes. Only the fact that there was still plentiful food and drink on the bridge had kept him in place—for the moment.

In all the happy chaos, Rip had admitted that he'd completely flaked out on getting Raymond anything more interesting than another bottle of booze-but then promised, magnanimously, an IOU for a jump-ship trip to whatever time and place the inventor wanted.

Raymond was much happier after that, but promptly became embroiled in a discussion with Mick and Len about the best usage of that IOU, a conversation in which he's not entirely sure if they're kidding or not. He's halfway convinced that he should help them steal the _Mona_ _Lisa_ when Mick just can't keep a straight face anymore and claps him on the back, roaring with laughter.

It was after that conversation that Len looks around and realizes that Sara is gone. Mick is now talking to Kendra and Raymond, a combination that makes Len blink. Still, their voices are low and amused, and even Kendra is grinning, and Len decides not to ask. Stretching, he rises from his seat, moving toward the door to the crew quarters.

Jax, grinning even as he yawns, is letting a still-wired Stein go on some more about their adventure today. The professor pauses and smiles at him as he passes, and the three men share another nod. They make a good team.

Rip, who's still sitting with Jonas tucked in one arm and Miranda leaning against him, both of them sleeping, looks up as he passes. The captain opens his mouth to speak, then stops and shakes his head.

There really aren't words.

Len offers him a half-smile and continues on.

"Thank you, Mr. Snart," Gideon offers once he steps into the corridor and a little more privacy. "Thank you for bringing them back to him."

"Thank you for helping." Len shrugs as he heads toward his room. "Is…is Sara in her quarters?"

"No, Mr. Snart." A pause. "However, I think you should go to yours."

His steps slow, just a little. "Huh. That so?"

"Yes."

He feels the mostly unfamiliar prickle of nerves as he pauses outside his door. Then he puts his hand on the pressure plate, stepping forward as it opens.

Sara's perched on his bed, wearing a Santa hat along with her Starling City Rockets jersey and a pair of yoga pants. He misses the red dress, but the sight of her making herself comfortable there makes him smile.

"Hey," she says, smirking at him as she leans back against the wall, "hero."

"Not a hero," he says reflexively, letting the door slide shut behind him.

"Bullshit."

Even he knows he's not going to be able to win this argument. Instead, he shrugs, crosses the room to lean against the bed, uneasily aware this is how they'd spoken once before, in her room, before the Oculus. "If I wasn't a thief," he tells her, looking up at her, "I'd never have been able to figure out how to do it."

"Hell of a thief?" Sara retorts. "You know, you can be both."

"Hmm." Len shrugs, conceding the point. "Thank you for the cocoa," he drawls, glancing away. "And the photos. Can't really share the latter, but you're welcome to the former."

Sara doesn't argue with his words, instead lifting her eyebrows at him. "I found the envelope," she says after a moment, sitting forward and motioning toward his desk. "Hope you don't mind I opened it."

"Guess it's a good thing that's all it was." And a really good thing he gave Gideon his if-I-don't-come-back message and didn't write it down.

"You got them all right. Too." She rolls her eyes. "My envelope's in my room. I can get it…"

"Nah. I believe you." Leonard stretches a little, moving to cross to the desk and palming the small package on it. "I can't really share the jersey, and it looks better on you anyway," he says, turning back around. "Could use the whetstone from time to time. You could teach me to use the bo, but I prefer my gun."

Sara smirks. "Anytime you want a lesson. But, you know…" She lifts a hand, letting him see the small, square package in her hand. "You still have one more gift left."

He blinks at it. "Yeah. Right. Well…so do you." Trying to be casual, he tosses her the box. "It's not much. And not stolen, believe it or not."

"You weren't supposed to…"

"Since when do I listen to what I'm supposed to do or not do?"

"Point." Sara hesitates, then opens the small box, revealing the pair of earrings, lapis lazuli studs, that he'd seen in the jewelry store in Ontario. They'd reminded him of her eyes.

"These are gorgeous," she says slowly, looking up at him. "Make this look…sort of silly."

"Somehow, I kinda doubt that." She doesn't seem inclined to hand him the package, though, so he drifts back toward the bed, curious despite himself. Sara just watches him, not moving until he actually sits down next to her, then extends the box.

He takes it, turning it over in his hands, then pulls off the paper, blue patterned with silver snowflakes. He lifts the lid off…

And stares in surprised silence at what it contains.

When he glances back up, he sees Sara grinning at him

"I was thinking," she says, leaning back against the wall again, "that you needed some sort of hint. To be a hell of a thief. Figured this could be that hint. I even tried to set things up so you had to 'share' it."

"Wait. 'Set things up?' " He looks down at the small green sprig of mistletoe in the box, then back at her.

Sara looks downright smug. "So, just maybe, I bribed the hell out of everyone to spill. Everyone did."

"Even Raymond? Mr. Thou-Shalt-Not-Cheat?"

"Even Ray. Once I told him why." She smiles a little. "You know, everybody on this ship seems just a little too invested in me. And you."

"And me and you?" Len reaches out and picks up the sprig, turning it in his fingers, eyes still on hers.

"MmHmm." She doesn't look away. "Then you decided to steal a kiss without any hints whatsoever. And all my bribery was for naught."

"Well," he drawls, turning toward her a little more, "you can kinda blame the professor for that."

"Can I, now?" Is she leaning toward him? She's definitely leaning toward him.

"Yep. Make him pay for it later. Still," he drawls, lifting the mistletoe and tucking it at the top of the viewscreen where, mercifully, it stays, "you know, stealing something once isn't much of a challenge."

"It's not?" Sara's tone is innocent, and there's mischief in her eyes. There's also a heat there that's making him wonder why they've wasted so much time.

"Nope." He leans toward her, smirking. "The real mark of a master thief is being able to steal something repeatedly."

"And you're a master?" she murmurs, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her.

He goes willingly. "Damn right I am."

Sara's lips curve as she closes her eyes, tilting her head as their foreheads brush. "Prove it."

And he does.


End file.
